Chapter 3

Jeremy

“Jeremy Weston.” I extend my hand to the gray-haired man in the navy blue plaid suit who just introduced himself to me. “It’s good to meet you, Jim.”

He’s the owner of this restaurant, and we share a common interest. Our mutual business partner, Rocco Jones, has already arrived for dinner. He’s sitting at a table next to a bank of windows that overlooks the Las Vegas strip.

I don’t have a share in this restaurant and Jim doesn’t own a red cent of my company, Rizon Vodka, but Rocco had a hand in the success of both.

“What’s he drinking?” I point at Rocco.

Jim laughs. “Rizon Vodka.”

I rest a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. “Looks like he’s doing us both a favor tonight.”

Jim nudges his dark-framed eyeglasses up his nose with a push of his finger. “The meal and the drinks are on the house. Rocco insisted. I’ll take it out of his cut.”

I smile inwardly. “I’ll see myself to the table.”

As I near the table I’m greeted with the sound of female laughter. I look to my left to find three women seated at the bar. Their backs are to the bartender. Their eyes are pinned on Rocco.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. He looks out of place in this five-star eatery, yet he seems more at ease than anyone else.

I tug my tie from my neck and tuck it into my jacket pocket.

“Don’t hide that tie. I have a better place for it.”

I turn at the sound of the breathy voice that just tossed those words in my direction.

A pretty blonde has her hands clasped together in front of her. “It would look perfect wrapped around my wrists.”

Her friends let out a chorus of giggles and one hoots for good measure.

I give them one of my dimpled smiles and carry on.

Rocco’s on his feet by the time I reach his table. “Sounds like you’re making plans for later.”

I shake his hand and pat him on the back when he goes in for a hug. “You know Vegas. Everyone is up for anything.”

He eyes the women at the bar. “They are. They invited me to join them when I arrived.”

“Yet you’re sitting all by your lonesome, old man,” I joke. “You don’t think you have the stamina for all three of them?”

Rocco’s thirty-four and he’s accomplished more in his life than most people twice his age. He was a professional poker champion before he dove into the world of investing in other people’s dreams.

He’s brought mine to fruition and I couldn’t be more grateful. He knows it. I know he doesn’t mind when I goad him about his age.

“If I invited them back to my hotel room, I guarantee no one would leave with a complaint,” he says, motioning for me to take the seat across the table from him.

He waits for me to sit before he does the same.

“I doubt like hell you could make that claim, Jeremy.” He takes a sip of our prize-winning vodka. “You’re what now? Twenty-two?”

I shake my head, laughing. “You know I’m twenty-nine, you bastard.”

His hand is in the air motioning to someone to bring a drink for me. “I take it you’re drinking Rizon tonight?”

“Every chance I get.” I lean back in the chair. “How is it that you can conduct business all day dressed like that and I had to wear a fucking suit?”

The two suits I packed weren’t designed for Nevada heat in mid-June.

“That privilege comes with age, young man.” His blue eyes rake me over. “Give yourself a few years and a few million more in your bank account and you too can leave your suits back in Manhattan when you head west.”

“You’ve given me yet another reason to work my ass off.” I grin as the server places a glass of vodka in front of me on the table. “Thank you.”

She rests her hand on my shoulder, smiling in appreciation. “The chef is preparing the daily special for you both as requested by Mr. Jones. I hope you like grilled octopus, sir.”

I look over at Rocco before I glance back at the server. She’s barely legal age. I swear I can see imprints on her perfect white teeth from where braces once sat. She’ll get chewed up and spit out in this town in no time flat.

I inch back far enough that her hand falls. “That’s fine.”

Her hazel eyes lock on mine. “Do you need anything else from me?”

“We’re good, Sherri,” Rocco interjects. “You’re needed at table twelve.”

Her gaze darts to Rocco. “Of course, sir. I’ll take care of that now.”

Rocco watches as she walks away. “I’m working with the management team to lower the turnover rate. It’s why I flew here two days ago.”

“You can’t hold onto employees?” I sip the vodka, the familiar taste rousing my taste buds.

“I’ve had the same assistant for seven years.” He rakes a hand through his dark brown hair. “I pay him well and give him ample time off. This place pays shit and overworks everyone they hire. That stops today.”

“You’re in town to drop the hammer?” I look over at the bar and the women who are still blatantly gawking at us. “You’re going to mix some pleasure with that business, aren’t you?”

His gaze follows mine. “If I do it won’t be with any of them. What about you?”

The only pleasure I’m interested in involves the gorgeous brunette I met on the airplane this morning.

Time will tell if she takes me up on my invitation to join me in my room tonight.

“I may have plans later.”

“May have?” He asks as he watches Sherri greet the couple that just took their seats at a table near us. “You didn’t lock it down?”

I ignore the question to focus on the reason for this dinner.

I asked for a face-to-face with Rocco back in New York City last week to go over the details of a new product we’re launching in the fall. He was already committed to non-stop meetings, so we scheduled for next week.

When I mentioned in a text message that I was heading to Vegas to meet with a casino owner about serving Rizon products exclusively in his properties, Rocco told me he was on his way here too.

He suggested we talk over dinner, so here we are.

“What did you think of that sample bottle I sent you two weeks ago?” I look out at the bright lights lining the strip.

“It was excellent. I think you found our winner.”

I trust his judgment, but I trust my instinct even more. Since I took over running the company from the interim CEO my grandfather appointed before his death, I’ve branched out from our traditional vodka to a host of flavors.

The timing was ideal and our market share has steadily increased since. Our smooth vanilla vodka is set to be the newest notch in our belt.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” I raise my glass in the air. “Here’s to another successful launch.”

He taps his glass against mine before he tosses back the rest of his drink. “We need the launch of this to be in a different league. Throw me every idea you’ve got.”

I lean back in my chair and smile. “Buckle up. We’re about to bury every other vanilla vodka out there.”